


How Much For A Kiss?

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Sometimes guests have strange requests, but this is the first time in Akaashi's three years as a server that anyone has actually surprised him.“It’s my friend’s birthday,” said Kuroo, “and he hasn’t shut up all night about how pretty you are. I’ll give you 2,000 yen to kiss him.”“I’m not kissing your friend,” said Akaashi, voice flat. “I’m a server, not a prostitute.”“No, no, no,” said Kuroo quickly. He waved his hands, as if trying to erase that word from the air between them. “I don’t want it to be like that. I’m just trying to make him happy. Come on. 3,000 yen.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [¿Cuánto por un beso?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9668672) by [YuiMakino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuiMakino/pseuds/YuiMakino)



> I had this idea yesterday and I couldn't _not_ write it.
> 
> I think I love Akaashi too much. It's a problem.

Akaashi didn’t enjoy waiting tables, but he also didn’t enjoy living the life of a starving student whose parents wouldn’t help with his finances.

“Akaashi, I just seated number 66,” said one of the hostesses as she breezed past, a stack of menus hugged to her chest. 

“Got it. Thanks.” He raised a tray full of food a little higher so she could duck beneath it, then resumed his winding path to table 59. The guests were a family of four, parents and two teenage children who were so absorbed in their phones that they hadn’t even looked when placing their orders. The family appeared to be middle-class, dressed nice but not flashy, their mobile devices up-to-date but not the newest releases.

Akaashi anticipated an adequate tip from them, probably the typical fifteen percent.

After three years as a server, that was now how he tended to judge people, even when he wasn’t at work. He always studied the people around him, examining clothing and purses and haircuts and watches. It had become a habit, and he didn’t think he’d be broken of it anytime soon.

It was beneficial, though, financially. He’d learned early on that some guests weren’t worth wasting extra effort on. Groups of unruly teenagers, for example, would never tip more even if you gave them the best service of their young lives. Well-dressed businessmen with 500,000 yen watches and partially plastic trophy wives, however, appreciated additional attention. They thought they were the most important people in the restaurant and liked to be treated that way. Akaashi was happy to treat them however they’d like, in exchange for proper compensation. 

He didn’t consider himself a people-person, but he had an excellent poker face and a high tolerance for bullshit. 

Those traits had made him one of the highest-grossing waiters in the restaurant.

He served the dishes to table 59, asked the appropriate questions to the guests, and retreated so they could dine in privacy. He made a mental reminder to walk back by the table in about four minutes and check the wife’s drink. It might be getting a little low by then, but it was too soon to fill it now without looking like he was trying too hard.

He replaced the tray on the shelf outside the kitchen, took a deep, cleansing breath, and started toward table 66 with a small measure of dread.

Table 66 was a booth located in the back corner of the building, directly surrounded by only two other tables. It was the most isolated dining area in the restaurant, and for good reason. It was used as a safe place to stow away the more unruly customers, to prevent them from disturbing the other guests. Sometimes it was used for young couples with screaming children. Sometimes it was reserved for middle-aged women with soccer mom haircuts who just looked like they were going to loudly complain about every detail of their service. But most times, like now, it was used to isolate ridiculously loud college students who would disturb half the restaurant if allowed in the main dining area.

Akaashi’s eye twitched as he rounded the corner and was slapped with a deafening peal of laughter. It was loud and obnoxious and Akaashi wanted to turn heel and force one of the new servers to handle it instead.

But it was his turn, and despite his seniority, he was willing to take one for the team every now and then.

He blinked his polite mask into place and approached the table, bracing for the worst.

On one side of the booth sat a college kid with spiky white hair who seemed to be causing at least eighty percent of the commotion. Across from him were two others, one participating in the uproar, the other too preoccupied with his phone to acknowledge his friends.

“Welcome,” said Akaashi, his flat voice cutting through the noise. “I’m Akaashi and I’ll be your server. What can I get you to drink?”

Of course they wanted beer. Akaashi was far from surprised.

Akaashi checked IDs and put names to the annoyingly happy faces; Bokuto was the loud one, Kuroo his smug, dark-haired friend. The quiet one ordered soda so Akaashi had no way to know his name, nor did he care.

They started laughing again as Akaashi walked away to fetch their drinks, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were laughing at him. He was certain it happened all the time. Despite his disdain for attention, acting as a server put him on display. If he made any mistakes or said anything incorrect, he was immediately an easy target for ill-mannered comments and biting jokes.

He’d gotten used to it over the years. At this point he usually found the criticism hilarious.

At least, unless it affected the amount of his tip. Then it was suddenly not funny anymore. 

“Drinks for sixty-six,” said Onaga, sliding the matching beers across the bar to Akaashi, who accepted them with an unimpressed sigh.

“Thanks.”

“Good luck out there,” said Onaga with a half-assed salute. “I hope it’s not as bad as last time.”

Akaashi’s eye twitched. He didn’t want to think about last time, but his brain flashed a fuzzy memory of an inebriated college student vomiting on Akaashi’s shoes before he could pack the recollection safely away.

At least these guests were starting with beer instead of a dozen shots. 

“Here you go,” said Akaashi as he distributed the drinks to table 66. 

The loud one, Bokuto, cheered and seized his beer, draining half of it in one go. Akaashi couldn’t keep himself from staring. It was the dumbest thing he’d seen all night.

Bokuto slammed the beer back onto the table with a grin, amidst Kuroo’s laughter.

“I’m gonna need another one of these,” said Bokuto, pointing to his drink as if Akaashi could possibly mistake what he meant. As if in further explanation, he added, “It’s my birthday!”

Akaashi forced a smile. He felt as if his face was going to split in half.

“Happy birthday,” he said, and though the words tasted like ashes, they sounded genuine. “Would you like to order food to go with that beer?”

“Yeah, of course! Kuroo, you go first. I’ll probably just copy you.”

Akaashi kept his polite mask in place as he devoted the guests’ orders to memory. He hadn’t used a notepad in a year and a half. He found that customers tended to be impressed and tipped more if he didn’t have to scribble down their orders. 

And this job was all about tips.

That was the only thing that preserved Akaashi’s smile as he repeated back the orders for confirmation and promised that he would return in a moment with a fresh beer.

As soon as he turned his back to the table his face flattened back into passive exasperation.

To be fair, they weren’t as bad as most table 66 groups. They were too loud, and fairly annoying, but they weren’t the worst that Akaashi had ever seen. Bokuto thanked him when he returned with another beer, and they were actually polite when their food was delivered. When Akaashi returned to check on them a while later, their empty dishes were piled into a neat stack in the center of the table. Akaashi had expected to be cleaning up food scraps from beneath the table after they left. 

All in all, it wasn’t the worst night of table 66 that he’d ever had. He’d gotten off easy, compared to last time.

He went for one last check on the table to see if they wanted one more round. The loud one was gone, but his last half-empty beer indicated that he would be back.

“Would you like something else to drink?” asked Akaashi. He addressed Kuroo, who was the only one left to speak to. The quiet one in the corner still hadn’t looked at him.

Kuroo smirked up at him, the curve of his lips dipped in smugness.

“No thanks,” he said, “but could I ask for a favor?”

“Of course,” said Akaashi. “What can I do for you?”

He assumed that he wanted another serving of food, or was maybe going to ask for something to go. 

He certainly wasn’t expecting what came out of the stranger’s mouth.

“It’s my friend’s birthday,” he said, pointing toward the empty side of the booth, “and he hasn’t shut up all night about how pretty you are. I’ll give you 2,000 yen to kiss him.”

For the first time in three years, Akaashi’s mask slipped.

He felt his expression morph into surprise, eyebrows crawling up his forehead, mouth opening slightly.

Apparently there was something hilarious about it, because Kuroo started laughing.

The quiet friend jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “Stop it, Kuro. You’re making him uncomfortable.”

He was right, which was surprising, considering the guy still hadn’t looked away from his phone.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Kuroo, getting his laughter under control. He cleared his throat and suddenly he was serious. “But really,” he said, “just a quick kiss. I just want my bro to have a good birthday, you know?”

Akaashi stared at him for a long moment. He waited for him to laugh again, or to otherwise indicate that this was a joke that they always pulled on unsuspecting servers. Kuroo looked dead serious.

“I’m not kissing your friend,” said Akaashi, voice flat. “I’m a server, not a prostitute.”

“No, no, no,” said Kuroo quickly. He waved his hands, as if trying to erase that word from the air between them. “I don’t want it to be like that. I’m just trying to make him happy. Just one quick kiss. Come on. 3,000 yen.”

Akaashi was unimpressed. “3,000 yen is not worth losing my job for, sir.”

“You won’t get in trouble,” insisted Kuroo. “No one’s around. It’s isolated back here.”

He was right in that respect. The tables around them had emptied out in preparation for closing and Akaashi was the only server assigned to that section of the building. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to wander by and witness the act.

Even so, Akaashi wasn’t that stupid.

“Okay, okay,” said Kuroo, nodding. “I see what the problem is. How much do you want? Name your price.”

Akaashi stared at him. This guy was completely insane.

His eyes flickered to the quiet one, who’d finally tuned into the conversation and was watching the exchange with something like boredom.

“He’s not going to do it, Kuroo.”

“Shut up, Kenma,” he mumbled from the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, hot server guy, how much?”

“His name is Akaashi,” said Kenma.

Akaashi’s eyebrows rose again. He didn’t know how he’d remembered Akaashi’s name when he hadn’t even looked up during the entire meal.

“Akaashi,” Kuroo corrected. “How much?”

This guy really wasn’t kidding.

Akaashi schooled his features into impassivity. “20,000 yen.”

There were a number of reactions he expected. He expected Kuroo to get angry and shout at him for proposing such a ridiculous number. He expected him to start laughing and call Akaashi an idiot. He even expected Kuroo to shrug off the amount and try to barter for a lower price.

What he did not expect was for Kuroo to slap his hand against the table and say, loudly, “Done!” 

Akaashi gaped as Kuroo leaned forward, fished his wallet from his back pocket, and started flipping through bills. 

“Wait,” said Akaashi through numb lips as Kuroo started counting out money onto the table. “You can’t be serious.”

Kuroo tilted his head back to look up at him. “Do I look serious?”

He did.

Kuroo pinched 20,000 yen between his fingers and waved it in the air between them. “You’d better be a good kisser, Akaashi. I’ve paid less than this for a blowjob.”

Akaashi almost choked. The money was pressed into his hand and he looked at it blankly.

“He should be back any minute,” said Kuroo, raising his arms over his head. Akaashi was reminded of the lazy stretch of a cat. “He had to go piss away those half dozen beers.”

Akaashi stared at him. “You’re really serious.”

“We’ve been over this already,” said Kuroo. “Bo’s my best friend. I want him to be happy.”

Kenma slid his gaze to the side, eyeing Kuroo, then briefly glanced up to Akaashi before returning his attention to his phone. “He’s serious,” confirmed Kenma. “Just do it when he gets back and get it over with.”

Akaashi just stood there, at a loss.

Before he could collect himself enough to respond, Bokuto himself strolled back over to the table.

“Hey, hey, hey!” he said, throwing himself into the empty side of the booth. “I don’t need another one, dude. I should stop. I’m starting to feel it a little bit, you know?”

It was clear he was a little tipsy. His grin was too wide and his eyes were too bright, but he wasn’t plastered. 

And despite his obnoxious speaking volume, he wasn’t all that unattractive.

Akaashi took a breath, resigned himself to this situational train wreck, and discreetly slipped Kuroo’s money into his pocket.

He physically felt the smugness of Kuroo’s smile.

Akaashi didn’t know the best way to go about this. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything like this before. He shouldn’t be doing it now, but 20,000 yen was a lot of money for a struggling college student. That was a good chunk of his rent.

He supposed he would do as Kenma recommended: just do it quick and get it over with.

Akaashi shuffled to Bokuto’s side of the booth and slid in next to him, their thighs bumping together. Bokuto blinked at him, surprised, but not offended.

“You want to hang out with us?” he said, clearly hopeful. “Dude, I would’ve saved you some food or something. What do you-”

Akaashi reached out and pressed his hand against the side of Bokuto’s face, effectively shutting him up. He held Bokuto’s eyes, which were round and golden and utterly confused.

Before Bokuto could say anything, and before Akaashi could get back in touch with his common sense, he leaned forward and pushed his lips against Bokuto’s.

Kuroo whistled from across the booth, and there was the sound of a shutter as one of them snapped a picture. 

After a brief second Bokuto kissed him back, his lips moving carefully against Akaashi’s, almost hesitantly. It was unexpected; Akaashi had expected him to be brash and impulsive. 

Akaashi shifted closer and threaded his fingers into the side of Bokuto’s hair, kissing him more deeply. 

If he was getting paid for this, then he was going to do it right. He wasn’t going to give Kuroo any reason to ask for a refund.

He felt Bokuto’s hand hovering somewhere around his waist, but he never quite touched him. He was probably too thrown by the sudden affection to push the contact any further.

Akaashi glided his tongue over Bokuto’s bottom lip and his mouth opened immediately. Akaashi licked into it gently, prying Bokuto’s teeth further apart, tracing along the roof of his mouth. 

Bokuto practically melted beneath the attention.

Akaashi lightly nipped Bokuto’s lower lip and pulled back, trying to ignore the swoop of sensation in his stomach as he took in Bokuto’s dazed expression.

Akaashi hitched a smile onto his face, and it came more easily than usual.

“Happy birthday, Bokuto-san,” he said, pitching his voice deep. Then he slid out of the booth and walked away, Kuroo’s raucous laughter ringing in his ears.

Akaashi had to hide in the kitchen for almost ten minutes before his face was no longer burning. 

As the trio left the restaurant, Akaashi caught them just in time to wish them a good evening.

And to slip a square piece of paper into Bokuto’s surprised fingers, on which Akaashi had carefully written his phone number. 

If Bokuto called him, he would even think about returning Kuroo’s 20,000 yen. 

  
  
He didn’t return it. He used the money to take Bokuto on their first date, where there were many more kisses; all of these given for free.


End file.
